Striker (3 page)

‘Ah, Ms. Sullivan. You’re here.’

Ryan looked up as he heard Ellen – maybe he could still corner her somewhere along the line and grab that date – welcome the reporter whose heavily vetted questions he was about to spend the next ten minutes answering. And, as his eyes met hers, all thoughts of that date with the beautiful but nervous Ellen flew right out of the window.

*

Amber diverted her eyes away from Ryan Fisher’s gaze to check with Alec, her cameraman, that he was ready to record this interview before looking down at her list of questions. About half a dozen of them had been edited, with many not being deemed suitable to ask at all, although Amber had no idea why. It was hardly as if she was asking him for his bank account details. But she’d done this enough times and knew enough about this game and the way it worked to know that even the smallest thing could be considered far too personal to ask. So, it was just a case of gritting her teeth and getting on with it. As usual.

‘Hey, good to meet you,’ Ryan grinned, standing up and holding out his hand, not waiting for anyone else to introduce him. Not that he needed any introductions. Even if you weren’t overly familiar with the world of football most people knew who Ryan Fisher was. He’d been on the cover of enough glossy gossip magazines or the front pages of many a tabloid newspaper, for a variety of reasons. But reasons that usually involved some would-be model, actress or even the odd reality TV star.

Amber looked at him. Was that smile intended to impress her? Sweep her off her feet? Or have her falling at his? He was going to have a long wait, then. ‘Are we all ready to go?’ Amber asked, directing her question at the club official, knowing only too well how tight a schedule these events were run on.

Ryan was even more pissed off now. Was she blanking him? Jesus! She might look hot but she was one cold bitch. Mind you, that was actually a bit of a turn-on. Ryan had never been one to shirk a challenge, although, to be honest, he’d never really been challenged all that often. In fact, he’d be hard-pressed to think of a time when a woman had blanked him like this.

‘Okay. Mr. Fisher…’

‘My name’s Ryan, sweetheart. Can we lose the “Mr. Fisher” crap? I’m a footballer, not some fucking businessman in a board meeting.’

Amber’s eyes bored into his. Who the hell did he think he was talking to? She was all too aware of this man’s reputation – both on and off the pitch – but she was more than ready for him. Fixing him with her best smile she crossed her legs and sat back in her chair, glancing over at her cameraman again. He gave her the nod – he was ready to go, so she might as well get this show on the road. ‘Okay then… Ryan. Shall we get started?’

Ryan smiled, too, although he was finding it hard to make that smile reach his eyes. She was one hard-faced cow. It was just a pity she was so attractive because, despite the fact she was quite obviously not in the least bit impressed by who he was, he still found himself drawn to her. Not that he had any intention of acting on it. Why put himself in a situation that would only succeed in denting his delicate ego when there were women out there who would quite happily massage it – and other parts of him – with just the click of his fingers? He’d get this over and done with then go see if he could find Ellen. She was a dead cert, whereas this one wasn’t even going to get off the starting blocks.

‘Fire away,’ Ryan sighed, sitting back and clasping his hands over his stomach.

Amber looked down at her notebook, mainly because she had no real desire to look at this man in front of her, although, as a professional, she knew she’d have to, sooner or later. Even if she couldn’t really care less what he had to say. He may well be on his way to becoming a footballing legend, and even
she
had to admit that she’d been more than impressed with his performances on the pitch. But as a person she could, quite frankly, take him or leave him. And preferably the latter. He was doing nothing to eliminate the sometimes misguided stereotype of the modern-day professional footballer with his arrogant behaviour, but it wasn’t like he was the first sportsman she’d come across who acted like this. She knew how to deal with them.

‘So… how does it feel to be back home, then – Ryan?’

Ryan waited until she lifted her head, his eyes immediately locking onto hers in a stare he wasn’t in any hurry to break. ‘How does it feel to be back home?’ A smile spread slowly across his handsome face as he continued to stare at Amber. ‘It feels fucking fantastic!’

*

‘He’s an arrogant prick,’ Amber said, watching from the dugout as her father’s team played an evening match. The miserable weather from earlier in the day had given way to a beautiful, clear August night, conditions that were perfect for both playing the game, and watching it. The reason why, Amber suspected, the club’s modest, lower-league ground was almost full to capacity which, in terms of her father’s club, was a few thousand, compared to the fifty-four thousand that his old club, Newcastle Red Star, could now command in their new, purpose-built stadium.

Freddie Sullivan looked at his headstrong daughter. ‘You’ve let him get to you, kiddo. That’s not like you.’

Amber sat up straight and looked at her dad. ‘Huh? I have
not
let him get to me…’

‘I’m just saying, pet. Look, come on. Everyone knows what Ryan Fisher’s like. He’s one hell of a player, both on
and
off the pitch. You should know that by now.’

‘He’s reinforcing every stereotype there is, Dad. And it isn’t like he’s stupid, either. He’s probably one of the most intelligent players I’ve ever met.’

‘And he knows how to work reporters like you, kiddo.’

Amber looked at her dad again. ‘Like
me
? What? Women, you mean?’

Freddie laughed, sitting back and stretching out his legs – legs that had once been insured for quite a bit of cash back in the 1970s and 80s. ‘I didn’t say that, Amber.
You
did.’

Amber stuck her hands in her pockets and sat back too, directing her eyes at the action on the pitch. The interview with Ryan had gone okay, considering. He’d answered every question she’d put to him in a professional and articulate way, which had really frustrated her. More than she’d thought it would. He was an incredibly intelligent young man yet he chose to act, at times, as though he was nothing more than an empty-headed poster-boy, full of crap and arrogance. She’d almost hoped, as she’d made her way to Tynebridge that morning, that all the rumours she’d heard about him from those who’d met him weren’t true, but it seemed they were. More’s the pity.

‘It was a good interview, though, don’t you think?’ Freddie commented, quickly jumping up from the bench to yell an instruction at one of his floundering defenders.

Amber waited for him to sit back down, still staring at the action on the pitch. ‘The edited version looked fine, yeah. But he’s still an arrogant prick. And that came across in all the bits you didn’t see on TV tonight.’

Freddie looked at his daughter again. ‘You’ve been in this business a long time, Amber. And I’ve never seen you react to any player like this before, and let’s face it, you’ve interviewed some of the biggest idiots this game has ever had the pleasure of spawning. Why’s Ryan Fisher got you so rattled?’

‘He hasn’t got me rattled, Dad. It’s just… it’s been a long day, and I’m tired.’

‘Then maybe you shouldn’t have come to the match tonight. You should have gone straight home, had a bath,
watched
some TV.’

‘I
wanted
to come to the match. I didn’t
want
to go home and sit on my own watching soap operas and drinking wine… Actually, I quite like the drinking wine bit.’

‘Join us in the bar after the match, then. I’ll buy you a pint.’

Amber laughed, finally starting to feel relaxed for the first time since the interview with Ryan Fisher. ‘Yeah. You always did know how to make a girl feel special, Dad.’

Freddie Sullivan leaned over and ruffled his daughter’s hair, pulling her in for a quick hug before jumping back up to yell yet more instructions at that same wayward defender, using language that turned the air bluer than the late-August evening sky.

Amber smiled, leaning back in her seat for the final few seconds of the first half, a little part of her suddenly warming to that idea of soap operas and a bottle of anything cold and white. She wouldn’t miss anything here. Freddie’s team was wiping the floor with the opposition, and anyway, he’d fill her in on everything when she popped round to see him tomorrow. No, despite feelings to the contrary just a few seconds earlier, now she really fancied just sinking into a hot, bubble-filled bath with the radio on low and a glass of ice-cold wine by her side. Because, no matter how much she tried to deny it, Ryan Fisher
had
got to her. For a reason she couldn’t yet work out.

*

Ryan rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling, his breathing heavy and shallow. She may well have been shy and quiet at the club earlier, but Ellen certainly knew how to shake off those inhibitions once she’d set foot in the bedroom. Talk about wild! To look at her you wouldn’t think she’d know how to do half the things Ryan had asked her to do, but she’d done them all, willingly. It was over now, though. The sex was done, and he really wasn’t in the mood for conversation and cuddles, which is what so many of them wanted these days. They seemed to think that just because you took them home, gave them champagne, told them how beautiful they were and then let them do anything they wanted to you that it constituted a pre-cursor to a full-blown relationship. It didn’t. And it probably never would. Ryan had no doubt he’d settle down one day, but that day was still far away in the future. He had a lot of living to do, and he had no immediate intention of doing it with the same girl. Not yet, anyway.

‘You’re really not as bad as everyone says you are,’ Ellen smiled, turning onto her side and resting up on one elbow.

Ryan looked at her. She really was pretty. Very pretty. Would it hurt to keep her on the scene for another couple of days? After all, he was still settling in here, wasn’t he? He could do with a bit of company until he found his feet.

‘And what does everyone say about me?’ Ryan smirked, feeling just a touch uncomfortable as she snuggled in against him. He usually didn’t encourage this from any of the women he slept with in case it led to those mixed signals he was so wary of. But he didn’t really have the heart to push her away. Especially as he was still considering keeping her around for a little while longer.

‘They say you’re an arrogant, self-centred, selfish bastard,’ Ellen went on, her arms circling his waist, her head now on his chest. Ryan resisted the urge to put his arm around her shoulders. The signals were already mixed enough and he figured the only way he was possibly going to be able to end this when
he
wanted to was by being as distant as he could. He’d done it before, it wasn’t exactly hard. ‘But an arrogant, self-centred, selfish bastard with talent.’

Ryan couldn’t help but smile a wry smile, putting both hands behind his head as he stared at the ceiling again. ‘You’ve heard that a lot, then?’

Ellen shrugged. ‘Quite a few times today.’

Ryan laughed. Yeah, that’d be right. He was all too aware of what people thought about him, but what did their opinions matter, anyway? He did the business on the pitch, didn’t he? And that was all they really cared about. In the long run. As long as you didn’t push them too far, clubs would usually turn a blind eye to anything you got up to off the pitch, within reason, of course. But it didn’t stop them voicing their opinions to anyone who’d listen.

‘Oh, I’m sorry…’ Ellen said, letting go of him and sitting up, covering her pretty, pert breasts with the thin bed sheet. ‘I haven’t offended you, have I?’

Ryan sat up, too. He was fast reaching the point where he wanted her to leave. Being alone seemed like such a great idea right now. He’d had his fun; he didn’t need the company anymore. ‘Sweetheart, you couldn’t offend me if you tried. Listen, if I took notice of everything everybody said about me I doubt I’d have got very far in this game. And anyway, maybe they’re right. Maybe I
am
an arrogant, self-centred, selfish bastard.’

Ellen looked at him for a second, frowning slightly, until she realised he was speaking with his tongue very firmly in his cheek.
 

‘Look, Ellen, this has been fun, but… I’ve got training in the morning, y’know? New club and everything. I don’t want to turn up late on my first morning, or even worse, worn out. You know how it is.’

‘Oh… Oh, yes, of course. I’m… I’m sorry. I should go.’ She leaned over the side of the bed and quickly retrieved her discarded underwear, hurriedly slipping it back on as though she didn’t want him to see her naked anymore. Which was pointless. He’d seen it all and so much more so trying to hide it now was a waste of time. ‘I’ve got things to do, too.’

She looked at him with an expression that seemed as though she was dying for him to ask just what those things were, exactly; to show some kind of interest in her life, but why would he? He’d known her all of five minutes and, in all honesty, he’d probably wake up tomorrow morning unable to even remember her name. Maybe he should write it down somewhere, get her to leave him her number because he
did
want to see her again. But only because he hadn’t had enough time to check out what else was on offer yet.